


Rivendell Nights

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Interspecies Romance, M/M, That fucking elf, orlando "the plank" bloom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo and Legolas make some sweet discoveries. Written for 2002 frodo_slash 3-word challenge; each part had a separate 3 words that needed to be included in the chapter but I don't remember what they are any more!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweeter Than Chocolate

In the middle of the night, Frodo wandered the terraces of Rivendell. Pulling his cloak close to shield him from the chill breeze, he smiled up at the sky. All Elbereth's stars shone down on him in a serene embrace. The voice of the falls followed him as he roamed—now singing loudly in his ears, now dwindling to a soft murmur.

He had taken to walking by himself at night, relished the time alone with his thoughts. His quest hung over him during the day as plans were laid and preparations made. Sometimes, he tried to make sense of the maps that were spread out in Elrond's study but always became overwhelmed by the immensity of this world that had seemed so safe and familiar. 'Well,' he thought to himself ruefully many times, 'you wanted adventure.' So many strange names met his eyes—Rohan, Dol Amroth, Fangorn … Gorgoroth. His healing wound always throbbed with renewed intensity when he looked at that part of the map.

The nights belonged to him alone. He didn't think of the task that lay ahead of him or the desperate flight that had brought him to Rivendell. Tonight, his thoughts turned toward home as they always did. The harvest would be long finished--the fields lying fallow until the coming spring, the snap of winter in the air. The Green Dragon would be filled with the smell of pipeweed and ale as the hobbits gathered for their nightly gossip about Mad Baggins and his cracked cousin. Thinking of Bag End and its new owners, he laughed softly. 'I wonder how the Gaffer is getting along with Lobelia. That's a battle I'd like to see.'

Frodo stood on a balcony that overlooked the falls and inhaled the scent of the pine trees that grew on the steep slopes sheltering Rivendell. Looking to the right, he saw a small stairway that he had not noticed before. That was the way of it at the Last Homely House; there was always a stairway or room that was new to him. It seemed to him that he might spend the rest of his life here and yet not discover all there was to be seen.

He climbed the stairway that wound around a corner, delighting in the smooth feel of the carved stone balustrade under his hands. Stopping at the top of the stairs, he saw an open door. The flicker of firelight cast a soft glow on the tall figure that stood silhouetted there.

"Oh … sorry. I didn't mean to disturb,' Frodo said and turned quickly to leave.

"Do not go."

"Legolas … I was just …" Frodo stammered, feeling clumsy.

"Do not let me disturb your nightly walk. I wondered when you would find your way up here. It is a little out of the way." Legolas laughed lightly, making Frodo shiver at the musical sound.

"You've watched me before?"

"Yes, nearly every night. I told myself I would not bother you, but now that you have found your way … come in if you wish."

Frodo followed Legolas into the room. Standing just inside the door, he took in the rich furnishings—the intricately carved bed, the figured hangings covering the walls. In front of the hearth were scattered large plush pillows in jeweled hues—sapphire, ruby and amethyst velvet that caught the light of the fire and invited him to run his hands over their silky surfaces.

"Sit and warm yourself by the fire. The night air is cold, and you so newly recovered. I would like to talk with you. We will be traveling far together, and I would know you a little better before we leave."

Frodo shed his cloak on a bench just inside the door before walking to the fireplace. Sinking down on the pillows, he warmed his face at the fire. Legolas lay next to him, his long legs stretched out before them. The flickering light caught the sheen of his hair. 'It looks like the light of Elbereth's stars,' thought Frodo.

Suddenly, he became aware that Legolas was watching him, a small smile curving his lips. Flustered, he dragged his eyes away and focused on a small tray that lay next to the pillows. His stomach rumbled a little at the inviting smell that reached him. 'Oh, no, first I gawk at him like a child who's never seen an elf, and now my stomach.' A little pot was surrounded by sliced apples and sweet cakes. It was the contents of the pot that he smelled. Glancing at it quickly, he saw a thick, brown liquid bubbling gently. He could not place the aroma—there was sweetness, yes, also something spicy and slightly nutty. His mouth watered, but he did not ask to taste the mysterious liquor.

Legolas spoke softly. "I like the nights the best. Sometimes I think I can reach up and touch Earendil's star. That is the way of it for you, too, is it not?"

Frodo said eagerly, "Yes, it's best at night. Not that Rivendell isn't beautiful during the day, but it's so peaceful at night. I can think more clearly then, don't have to worry about anything."

"You have much to worry you. That was a brave thing you did at the Council. I have seen many things in my life, but your acceptance of the burden was the most courageous yet. Gandalf had told me that hobbits are a surprising race, yet I do not think even he expected that of you. Do you know why you did it?"

"Not really. It almost seemed as if it wasn't my voice when I spoke. Yet I would not take it back, though I am afraid. Why did you volunteer to come with me?"

"How could I not with your example before me? Like you, I wondered at my own voice when I offered you my bow. But, come; let us not talk of such things at night. There is time enough during the day."

They sat in companionable silence, watching the play of the firelight on the wall hangings. Suddenly, Frodo's stomach spoke again, this time in a loud growl.

Legolas laughed. "Where are my manners? I must be distracted by you. No one had ever told me hobbits could be so fair. Eat. It is for you."

Frodo flushed at the compliment, amazed that one as beautiful as Legolas found him fair. "What is it? It smells so good that my stomach can't help growling even though I ate only a few hours ago."

"Ah, but you are a hobbit. I had heard of their appetite so have had this ready for you in case you wandered to my room. It is chocolate, melted with a little cream and cherry cordial. Come. You will like it."

Legolas dipped a piece of cake in the melted chocolate and lifted it to Frodo's mouth. A little chocolate spilled down Frodo's mouth as he swallowed, his tongue licking the stray drop, not wanting to lose even the smallest bit of this new delight. Sweet, it was so sweet, like tasting liquid velvet.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes, I've never tasted the like. It's better than mushrooms. May I have some more?"

"Yes, it is for you."

Frodo applied himself to the tray of fruit and chocolate as only a hobbit could—with serious absorption and no unnecessary talking. After trying it with the cake and with the fruit, he skimmed his finger across the chocolate and licked it off. Ah, that was the best way, alone without any other distraction.

"You missed a bit—there, on your chin." Legolas leaned forward and swiped his thumb against Frodo's chocolate-covered chin. Sucking the sauce from his thumb, he asked, "May I have some?"

Frodo nodded, his skin still tingling from the unexpected touch. He fed Legolas an apple slice dipped in the delectable liquor and watched him chew it slowly, a little of the chocolate dripping down his chin. Leaning forward in his turn, he wiped it away with his fingers and put them in his mouth. Which was softer, the chocolate or Legolas' skin? He could not tell; it needed more study.

Legolas scooped up some of the thick sauce with his fingers and, turning to Frodo, painted it across his mouth and chin. Frodo slipped back against the pillows and closed his eyes when he felt Legolas' lips against his face. He quivered a little as Legolas' tongue slowly dragged across his lips and his mouth sucked gently at his chin.

"I don't know which is sweeter—the chocolate or your skin."

"Mmmm …" Frodo wrapped his arms around Legolas' neck and pulled him close. As their chocolate kisses deepened, he buried his hands in the shining hair. 'Smoother than silk,' was his last coherent thought before a soft hum rose in his ears and he slipped further into the velvet pillows. Hazily, he felt lips moving against his throat, his breathing coming in short gasps as Legolas' tongue tasted his skin.

Legolas drew back and, kneeling before the dying fire, loosened his blue velvet robe. Turning back to Frodo, he sat back on his heels and gazed at him. When he brushed a stray curl back from his brow, Frodo mumbled, "mmm … sweet, so sweet … snogging … s' nice," giggled, and rolled over fast asleep.

Legolas sighed and shifted against the uncomfortable tightness in his groin that only a minute before seemed so delightfully promising. He looked at the pot of treacherous chocolate and quirked his mouth into a rueful grin. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he shook his head and thought, 'Greedy hobbit. A little less chocolate and I might still be kissing you instead of watching you sleep it off.'

Moving to the door, Legolas leaned against the doorway. He stood there many long minutes, watching the stars dim as dawn crept over the hills. It was so lovely, was there anything lovelier? Turning his head, his eyes rested on the slumbering hobbit and knew there was.


	2. Warmer Than Miruvor

Legolas did not like the rain—not this icy winter rain that chilled his bones with its relentlessness. He stood at the door to the terrace and tried to make out the falls that rumbled across the ravine. Even with his keen sight, he caught only a glimpse every now and then of foamy white waters that were quickly swallowed up by an iron-gray mist and the rain that slanted down across the terrace.

The day had started out blustery but bright, a good day for learning the ways of the pine forest that clad the slopes of Rivendell. In early afternoon--when he thought he would be climbing those slopes--Legolas watched the storm clouds march in over the hills. After a few minutes, the rain began falling in frigid sheets. He sighed regretfully and stepped away from the door. This was not the kind of rain he relished being out in. It was not like the spring showers that fell gently in Mirkwood, nourishing the tender green ferns as they pushed their way up through the soil and unfurled their lacy fronds. Neither was it like the summer storms that brought release from the tension of slowly building thunder in the distance. He loved to stand in a clearing waiting for the warm downpour that washed away the stifling mugginess of the air, leaving everything fresh in its place.

Turning away from the door and closing it softly, Legolas shivered from the dank cold that seeped in. He felt uneasy but did not know why, only knew that a creeping dread had grown in him as he watched the storm clouds gather.

The sound of feet pounding up the stairs drew him back to the door. Opening it, he saw Sam running toward him, his bare feet splashing against the stone. Sam stopped when he reached the door, a little out of breath and his clothes plastered to his skin.

"What is wrong, Master Samwise? This is not a day to be running out of doors."

"It's Mr. Frodo. He's gone missing. Well, that is, he went out for a walk and hasn't come back. The others are out looking for him. I've been searching around the house just in case. I thought he might be with you."

"He is not here. I have not seen him all day. Come in and dry yourself."

"No, there's no time. I have to keep looking."

"I will help."

With that, Sam turned and ran back down the steps, muttering to himself. "I told him not to go alone. Too stubborn, he is."

Legolas moved quickly to the clothes press, pulling off his robe as he went. Knowing the source of his unease did nothing to dispel it. Instead, it solidified in a pit in his stomach. After fumbling on his leggings, he forced himself to stand still and breathe deeply. Frodo could not have gone far. The most likely explanation was that he had found a dry place to wait out the storm. He shook aside a sudden vision of Frodo tumbling helplessly down a steep slope and combed his fingers anxiously through his hair. 'I spoke the truth the other night when I told him I was distracted by him. This is not like me,' he thought.

After standing another moment in bemusement, Legolas reached for his tunic but was stopped by a quiet scratching at the door. 'Sam again, come to tell me he is found.' Legolas pulled the door open and discovered a wet and bedraggled Frodo standing before him.

"Frodo! Here you are. The others are … never mind that. Come in, you are soaked to the skin."

Frodo took a hesitant step into the room and looked down at the water pooling at his feet. He stuttered from the cold. "I d-don't want to ruin the carpet. Perhaps if you have a towel, I could dry off a bit first. So stupid of me to get caught, but the rain came so quickly."

"The carpet can look after itself. Come in, we must get you warm and dry."

Legolas took Frodo by the hand and led him gently to the middle of the room. He looked down at the shivering hobbit and said, "Let me get towels to dry you."

He walked swiftly to a curtained alcove, drawing the wine dark velvet aside. The alcove was almost filled by a large marble bathtub, its oval whiteness gleaming in the dim light. Grabbing a handful of fluffy towels, Legolas took them back to Frodo, who still stood as Legolas had left him, his frozen fingers struggling with the clasp of his cloak.

Legolas knelt down and said softly, "Let me do that."

Frodo looked at him and smiled faintly. His face seemed all eyes to Legolas, eyes that had dark violet smudges beneath them which stood out in stark relief against his pale skin. Legolas pressed his hand to Frodo's forehead, worried that it would be damp with fever. He sighed with relief when he felt it cool against his fingers. Moving quickly with nimble fingers, he stripped off Frodo's garments, peeling off each sodden layer and tossing it on the floor. Leaves, pine needles and little twigs came away with the clothes.

As he picked a small branch away from Frodo's jacket, he asked, "Were you rolling about? I believe you brought half the outdoors with you."

"I was on a slope near the falls when it started raining. The ground grew wet so quickly that I lost my footing and slipped."

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"Only my pride. I'm glad no one saw me; I looked a fool tumbling about. I hope you don't mind that I came here. It was closer than my room, and all I could think of was to get out of the rain. I was so cold."

"I am honored you thought of it. I would not have you risk getting sick again."

With that comment, Frodo stood naked before Legolas, trembling from the cold air against his bare skin. Legolas covered him with a towel, hoping Frodo did not notice that his hands were trembling, too. He rubbed Frodo briskly for a minute before giving him another towel.

"Here, dry your hair while I get you a blanket."

Legolas stepped away toward the bed, mentally shaking himself. 'This is not the time to be thinking such thoughts. What would he think of you?' He took a woolen throw from the foot of the bed and brought it back to Frodo, who looked like he was in a shroud, so engulfed was he by the large white towels.

Legolas said, "Put this blanket about you; it will be more comfortable than the towels."

"Thank you." Frodo took the blanket and wrapped it around him, letting the damp towels drop to the floor.

Legolas smiled at him. "There, that looks better. Come sit by the fire while I get it built up again."

Frodo moved closer to the hearth and sank down on the soft cushions in front of it. For a moment, Legolas watched him snuggle into their velvet depths before kneeling at the hearth. The fire had grown low, but Legolas remedied that by tossing on a few logs. After stirring the glowing coals, he watched the flames renew themselves on the dry wood. The clean scent of pine filled the air as the logs kindled.

Turning to Frodo, Legolas saw that he still shivered from the cold, his lips tinged a faint blue.

"Frodo, you need a hot bath. Wait here, I will go and have water brought up."

"No, really, I'll just sit here for a few minutes and then go to my room. I'm already getting warmer."

Legolas smiled wryly and said, "Then why are you still shivering?"

Frodo laughed. "A bath would be nice, but I don't want to cause you any more trouble. Perhaps some chocolate? Have you any of that left?"

Throwing his head back, Legolas roared with laugher. "You must be feeling better if your appetite has returned. No, I am sorry, you ate it all the other night. But what was I thinking? I have a little miruvor. That will help with the shivering while the water is being heated."

"Miruvor? What's that?"

"It is the cordial of Imladris and made for just such a circumstance as this."

Legolas retrieved a crystal decanter and a small glass from a table next to the hearth. He held the decanter up to the firelight and admired its warm amber glow before pouring some into the glass and holding it out to Frodo, a rich, fruity fragrance filling the air. Frodo tried to take it, but his hands still shook from the cold. Legolas held the glass to Frodo's lips and tilted it as Frodo let it pour down his throat. A few drops of the cordial dripped down Frodo's chin. Before Frodo could lick up the stray drops, Legolas reached out his thumb and wiped away the syrup, putting his thumb to his mouth to taste the liquor.

Frodo licked his lips and said, "Oh, it's so warm it burns, but in a nice way. May I have some more?"

"It is very strong. Perhaps a little later." Legolas shook his head fondly. "Greedy hobbit."

Frodo smiled. "But if a little makes me feel like this, won't more be even better?"

"Later. I will go now to get the water and tell the others you are safe and sound. Sam must know you are found. He was very worried."

Frodo sighed. "Dear Sam. He warned me not to go alone, but I wouldn't listen to him." Yawning, he leaned back against the cushions and watched Legolas walk to the door that led into the hallway.

* * *

Legolas closed the door and leaned against it for a minute. In the midst of his worry over Frodo, he felt young as he had not felt in so many long years. It surprised him. He thought it pleased him as well.

Drawing himself from his brief reverie, he walked past the carved niche next to the door. He trailed his hands over the statue within, a brief prayer in his stroking fingers that dreaming Este watch over Frodo while he was gone. He ran down the stairs, pausing when he reached a landing. Turning back, he looked up at the statue of Este sleeping on her isle in the midst of the tree-shadowed lake Lorellin. Yes, the Valie devoted to the healing arts would see that Frodo rested safely until he returned.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Legolas sought out Elrond's housekeeper. She listened gravely to his request for hot water and bowed her assent.

Before Legolas turned to go back to his room, he said, "And please, do find Samwise or the other hobbits and let them know Frodo is back and unharmed. I know how they worry, especially Master Gamgee."

"It shall be done. Do not worry."

Legolas moved toward the stairs, eager to return to Frodo, when he felt the housekeeper take him by his arm.

"Yes? Is there something else?"

"You look a little cold yourself, Prince Legolas."

"I do?"

The housekeeper's lips curved in a slight smile though it looked to Legolas like she was trying hard not to laugh.

"It is a little chilly to be going about without a shirt or tunic. It is not my experience that elves are immune from colds."

Legolas looked down at his bare chest and felt his face grow hot. "Yes, you are right. I had forgotten … that is … well, you are right. Thank you." He averted his eyes from the smirking housekeeper and moved lightly, his steps coming more quickly as he mounted the stairs.

He told himself that today was not the time to continue what had begun the other night as much as he wanted to feel Frodo's lips opening under his mouth again. What Frodo needed now was warming from his drenching, not more kisses from an elf who knew better than ask such a thing. But it was hard, he sighed. He had not known such sweetness in many years. His eagerness to be around Frodo, to touch him, perplexed him. His life moved in tranquil seasons, each one merging swiftly into the next in an endless cycle. The lives of mortals rarely touched him; they passed liked quicksilver, too rapidly to be understood and therefore seldom sought. He shook his head and smiled to himself as he reached the door to his room. It had been long since he had felt such a swift, unsure eagerness. 'Patience.' He shivered a little from the cool air against his chest.

* * *

Frodo was huddled against the cushions where Legolas had left him. He hiccupped gently when Legolas knelt down to him. The decanter of miruvor was on the floor next to him, the level of liquid notably lower.

"Frodo? Are you well?"

Frodo opened his eyes and said, "Yes, but my head is spinning a little. I had a little more miruvor, thought it would make me feel better, but …"

"I told you it was strong. It is not to be taken in such large quantities, greedy hobbit."

Giggling a little, Frodo reached his hand out and stroked Legolas' chest. "You must be even colder than I am, going about without a shirt. Let me warm you."

Legolas fell back against the pillows as Frodo crawled into his lap and twined his arms around his neck. The blanket slipped aside a little, the heat of Frodo's chest flowing into Legolas and making him breathe a little quicker at the contact. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself that Frodo was in no state to be conscious of what he was doing. It was up to him to maintain his control. Oh, but Frodo felt sweet in his arms, his scent a mingling of rain and leaves, miruvor and moist skin. Legolas pulled Frodo closer and buried his face against his smooth throat, rediscovering his taste and listening to his contented sighs, unaware that his own sighs blended with Frodo's.

They stayed snuggled close together until a quiet knock at the door roused them. Legolas sprang up and admitted the servants who brought coppers of boiling and cool water for the bath.

"Come, Frodo, your bath is ready."

Frodo walked to the bathtub and dropped his blanket. Legolas took him by the hand and helped him over its edge into the steaming water, averting his eyes from Frodo's graceful form. Catching a quick glimpse of round buttocks submerging under the water, he cast a frustrated prayer to Elbereth for self-control. 'Hobbits are not supposed to look like that. Save for the feet, he looks like a miniature elf.'

Needing a little distance and time to recover his equilibrium, Legolas went to the terrace door and looked out. The rain still splashed against the stone as the darkness of early evening fell. The coolness cleared his head a bit, and he turned back inside. The room was dark except for the flickering firelight. Legolas moved through the room with a lighted taper in his hand, and soon the soft glow of candlelight suffused the room.

Finally, he returned to the alcove where Frodo lay luxuriating in the bath. A many-branched candelabrum stood at the foot of the tub. After lighting the yellow beeswax candles, Legolas turned and looked at Frodo. His eyes were closed, and his skin was no longer pale but rosy from the hot water, except for the livid line of the healing wound on his shoulder. Legolas had forgotten that, he should not have forgotten that.

He said softly, "Is your shoulder hurting? I should have thought to ask."

Opening his eyes, Frodo looked up at Legolas with a slow smile that curled his fingers tightly around the taper he still held. "Not any more. It ached terribly in the cold, but the hot water has made it almost go away."

"Almost but not quite? I have something that might help with that." Legolas stroked the line of Frodo's scar lightly, searching its ridges with careful fingers. He took a small phial from the shelf behind the tub. "Athelas oil." The fresh scent of the athelas filled the alcove as he poured a little into his hands and massaged it into Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo closed his eyes again and stretched his neck against the back of the tub. "Oh, that feels so good." He opened his eyes, his sudden gaze just inches from Legolas. "But you must be cold yourself. Would you like a turn? Or, well, you could join me. The tub is large, and I don't take up much room."

Legolas almost groaned out loud at the invitation. He said nothing, just drew his hands to the tops of Frodo's shoulders and squeezed gently at the soft skin. Frodo sat up and leaned forward as Legolas drew his fingers lightly down his spine. Frodo shivered. "Are you cold again?" Legolas asked, drawing back. "Perhaps you had best lie back again."

"No," Frodo breathed almost inaudibly. "I'm not cold."

The oil was smooth and warm against Legolas' fingers. He pressed his thumbs into the back of Frodo's neck, kneading firmly. His self-control was slipping away just as the athelas oil was soaking into Frodo's skin. Perhaps just one kiss, one brief taste of his throat. He cupped Frodo's head and pulled it toward him, but as he lowered his head, Frodo stopped Legolas' lips with his mouth. Oh, Frodo was warm in his arms, his open mouth sweet and sticky with the residue of miruvor. Legolas slipped his tongue past Frodo's lips and trembled from the promise of more.

Pulling away slightly, Frodo said, "You're shaking from the cold. Come in with me, please."

Legolas nodded and stood up, his hands at the fastenings of his leggings. Cold! Oh, no, he was not cold. But he could no longer resist.

The door crashed open after a quick knock, followed immediately by a grinning Sam.

"Mr. Frodo! There you are. The housekeeper told me you were here. Oh, that was bad, you going off like that. You must have been soaked right through."

Frodo sighed and said, "Yes, Sam. You were right. You should have come with me. But then there would have been two of us for Legolas to take care of. I'm fine, the bath has warmed me up."

"That's good. Time for you to go back to your room, though. You need to get in bed and rest, it's too soon with your wound and all. Here, just wrap this towel about you, and I'll help you back."

"All right. Yes, it's time for me to go back to my room, I expect."

Legolas watched from the hearth as Sam helped his master out of the bathtub and dried him off with vigorous efficiency. As he wrapped Frodo in the discarded blanket and led him to the door, he nodded his thanks to Legolas. "I'll take it from here."

Legolas said, "Very well, Master Samwise. Thank you."

A quick look from Frodo--an apologetic smile--and he was gone, the sound of Sam's chattering fading away as he walked Frodo down the stairs. Legolas stood at the open door and glanced at Este. 'Did you have to take care of him that well? I would not have hurt him, you know.'


	3. Like Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part has a few lines of very very poor Elvish.

It had been a steep climb, but Frodo was barely winded. He felt nearly as strong as when he set out from Hobbiton so many weeks ago. Only the slight ache in his shoulder told him that he was not, but he banished the reminder with a shake of his head and a smile. It was not possible to be even slightly unwell on such a glorious day, and he would not have it.

He stood at the top of a slope near the falls and drank in the piney air. The bright sun on his face filled him with a glow of wellbeing. Though the land around Rivendell was wilder than in the Shire, he felt the same sense of ease as when he tramped the fields and hills of home. Leaning against a pine tree, he delighted in the scrape of its bark against his face and palms, dried sap sweet and bitter on his tongue.

"Do hobbits eat bark? I learn something new every day I spend with you."

Frodo turned to the laughing voice. "You certainly took your time following me. It was a long climb, you know, and breakfast was hours ago."

"Ah, a gentle reminder that I carry the food. Are you so hungry you will chew on a tree?"

"Not quite."

With that, Legolas stood before Frodo. Dropping to the pine-needle carpet, they rested from their bracing climb. Frodo looked around slowly--the falls near but not close enough to wet them from its spray, the towers of the Last Homely House glinting silver and rose across the ravine.

Frodo lay back and watched Legolas unpack their lunch, his long fingers quickly arranging fresh bread, honey, a chunk of mellow cheese, golden apples, a leather flask.

"Is that miruvor?" Frodo asked, a lopsided smile curving his mouth as his eyes slid from the flask up to Legolas' face. He snuck out his hand to snatch it.

Legolas lightly slapped away Frodo's stealthy hand and trailed his fingers upward to quickly caress the hobbit's sun-kissed face. "No--no more miruvor for you. Or chocolate. I want your full attention this afternoon."

"You have it--or will once I eat my fill."

And eat his fill Frodo did. It was only bread and cheese and fruit, but he ate as though he had gone hungry for days. Since his recovery, he had found that each meal felt that way. Today, the bread was soft and still held a trace of oven warmth; the cheese crumbled in tangy fragments in his mouth.

Legolas passed him the flask, and he drank deeply of the cool, clear brew. Honey and wildflowers lingered sweetly on his tongue after he swallowed.

"This tastes like what Gildor left for us near Woodhall."

"It is a common drink to elves. Tell me of Woodhall and Gildor. I do not know him."

"Woodhall is a village in the Eastfarthing on the way to Buckland. We met Gildor by good chance when we were leaving the Shire. He and his friends were wandering there. Perhaps they were headed for the Tower Hills, though that's just a guess. Elves have always passed through the Shire at night on their way west--more of them in the past few years than before, ever since …"

"Yes, I know--have said farewell to many of my kin in Mirkwood though I will meet them again across the Sea. What are the Tower Hills?"

"A little west of the Shire are three elvish towers. I have heard that you can see the Sea from the top of the tallest one."

"You have not been there?"

"No." Frodo shivered. "Have you ever seen the Sea?"

Legolas pulled Frodo to him. Frodo's shivering lessened as slim arms encircled him. He lay on his back looking up into the clear blue sky, Legolas' steady heart beating under his head.

Legolas' voice was a whisper against Frodo's ear. "No, I have not felt its call yet."

"And when you do?"

"I will go."

"But not now?"

"No, not yet, though sometimes I dream of salt spray against my face. I still have much to do and know here. Remember, I swore to come with you, and I would not break a vow."

Frodo sighed and relaxed--he had not even realized that his shoulders and neck had tightened until he felt Legolas' knuckles pressing lightly into his tense muscles.

Legolas asked, "Why did you shiver? The day is warm--too warm for late November."

"I don't know. It's just … at home, people always speak of the Tower Hills and the Sea with dread, as though they must be avoided at all costs. Except for Bilbo. He used to say he would take me to see the towers one day."

"But you are not like most hobbits, I think."

"Maybe. I never thought so until Bilbo went away and people started looking at me as though they expected me to vanish like he did. Do you know what they call him? Mad Baggins." Frodo laughed shortly and shook his head at the memory--half fondly, half irritated.

"But you did disappear."

"Well, yes, now that you mention it. I did. Does that make me Mad Baggins too?"

Legolas laughed. "I do not know. Neither of you seem mad to me. But then I know little of the ways of hobbits. You are the first I have met. In truth, I have seldom encountered mortals even though my life has stretched many hundreds of years. I have not sought to know them, but I expect the coming months will surely bring me more knowledge of mortals than in all the long centuries already gone."

Frodo shifted away from Legolas and looked into his grave face. "Why? Are we so little worthy of your attention?"

"Ah, no, I did not mean that. I honor all who have life. But mortals' lives pass so quickly they almost seem a blur to me. To become attached to one who would age and wither so soon would be a grief to me, so I have avoided it. The passing of the seasons show me enough of birth and death, though in nature there is always renewal. And the trees--I love the trees the most. Their long lives walk through the years with me."

Frodo nodded as though he understood and lay back against Legolas' chest. Looking up, he watched ragged white and silver clouds moving across the sky, dimming the bright sunlight to a diffused glow.

"Why do you want to be around me? I know that you said you wanted to know me better since we will travel far together. Yet, it seems more than that to me. You touch me--even kiss me. Or am I wrong about what you want?"

Frodo felt Legolas' chest tremble beneath his head. Cool fingers stroked his neck and slid down his arms to clasp him close.

"I do not know. It is true that I need to know you better so I can help you on our journey. And you know I think you fair and desire you. At least, that is how it began the other night when you came to my room. But now … I do not know how to tell you since I do not understand it myself. There is something in you that pulls me to you, makes me feel young as I have not felt in so long. It confuses me, frightens me a little."

"Do you want me to leave?"

Legolas whispered, "No, I would have you stay … if you want it." The trembling of his chest rippled to his arms. His fingers shook as he laced them into Frodo's eager ones.

"I do." Frodo shifted in Legolas' arms and pressed his mouth to the elf's silken throat. Savoring the quickened pulse against his lips, he roved slowly back and forth, smiling when he heard Legolas gasp softly. He laughed in surprise when he found himself on his back wrapped in Legolas' arms.

Frodo closed his eyes and lay still waiting for Legolas to kiss him, his lips parted with wanting. Legolas' confusion mirrored his own, yet he did not doubt his own desire or want to deny it. The unraveling of their feelings would have to wait. For now, Legolas' mouth on his own would silence their bewilderment.

When Legolas made no move to kiss him, Frodo wriggled in frustration and opened his eyes. The elf's gray eyes looked down on him tenderly as he murmured, "Melui … melui." Frodo raised his head and closed the distance between them, soft lips grazing lightly, tongues greeting each other.

Frodo found himself pressed hard to the ground as Legolas finally dropped his self-control. Sighs and the soft breeze mingled in the afternoon light as they gave themselves up to their kisses. Though Frodo had felt Legolas' mouth on his before, this was the first time he had been in complete possession of himself. Neither cordial-laced chocolate nor dizzying miruvor clouded his senses. Yet his head spun more wildly out of control at the clear touch of Legolas' mouth moving against his lips, the elf's tongue filling his mouth with a trace of honey.

Frodo drifted in a warm pool of pleasure as Legolas dragged his lips down his face and tasted his throat. He felt more than heard soft words--_"medlin lend … lend ... moe."_ He slid his fingers up around Legolas' back and traced circles against his suede tunic, wanting to reach through the fabric to find the silken skin beneath.

He didn't notice the first drop or two that fell on his stroking hand, but he could not ignore the raindrop that splashed against his forehead.

"It's raining."

Legolas sighed and looked up. He sank down on Frodo for a brief moment, snuggling against his shoulder, before sitting up and saying, "We had best go back. Perhaps it will be better that way. The pine needles are soft, but I do not think you would like their feel against your bare skin. Come to my room with me. My bed is soft. I might even find a little more miruvor there, though I do not think we will need it to make us slumber." He stroked Frodo's throat and smiled. _"Moe._ Do you understand?"

"Yes. Let's go."

Rising, they packed up the remains of their lunch and moved quickly down the slope. The rain pattered lightly on the ground, beading on their clothes. They did not speak while they walked, content in each other's company. Every now and then, Legolas held Frodo's shoulder. When he did that, Frodo looked up and smiled at him, his eyes caressing the tall elf's young, eager face.

When they had almost reached the house, the skies opened in earnest and the rain pelted hard. They ran laughing up stairs leading to a covered porch, stamping their feet and shaking off the rain. Legolas held his hand out to Frodo. "Come."

"There he is! Frodo!"

Sam, Merry, and Pippin surrounded Frodo, spinning him around and exclaiming at his wet clothes.

Merry poked at him and said, "Walking in the rain again, cousin? You do need watching, make no mistake of that. Come along, or we shall have to kidnap you. Did you forget our plans to meet this afternoon with Bilbo for another session of note taking?"

Frodo laughed and said, "No, not this afternoon. Tomorrow. Bilbo will understand."

"That he won't. We'll never hear the end of it if we don't bring you."

"No, really."

"Well, then, consider yourself kidnapped."

Merry and Pippin each grabbed an arm and marched Frodo into the house, Sam following close behind. As he stepped across the threshold, Frodo looked back at Legolas and shook his head in helpless dismay. Legolas smiled faintly at him, his lips barely curving. Frodo turned back and gave in to the tide pulling him away.

'But not for long,' he thought.

* * *

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
na-chaered palan-diriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
fannuilos, le linnathon  
nef aer, si nef aeron!  
(FOTR, p. 231)_

 

Though the song had ended, it still lingered suspended in the air, word and melody woven into a cool, clear vision of kindled stars for elvish eyes. That is, the vision was clear to all the elves who were gathered in the Hall of Fire on this cold November night-- all save one. Legolas had come to the hall to lose himself in the songs and poetry that were usually more intoxicating than the most potent wine. Try as he might, it didn't work tonight. Each time a partially formed image unfolded before him, it was overlaid by wide blue eyes watching him and full lips curved in a tender smile. 'Ah,' he thought, 'the truth is that you hoped he would come here tonight seeking your company. Do not delude yourself that you have any appetite for poetry.'

The hours crept by tediously though usually he had no sense of the passing of time. Eventually, toward midnight, he rose to return to his room. Frodo had not come. Legolas also doubted that he had been wandering the terraces. The weather was too wet and cold for that. The rain had stopped after pouring hard and fast for several hours, leaving the air crisp but not freezing, the sound of water dripping from the drooping pine branches and eaves punctuating the night quiet.

In the dim light, Legolas saw Bilbo seated on a small stool, his cheek resting against the curve of a carved pillar. Thinking him asleep, he made no move to greet the elderly hobbit and kept walking toward the door.

"Going so soon, Legolas? The music making will continue far into the night. But, perhaps you have not found what you sought here?"

Legolas looked into sparkling eyes that belied Bilbo's wrinkles and snowy hair; he wondered if he was looking at Frodo as he would be one day.

"Yes, I had hoped to find Frodo here, though I would not expect him to have the elvish taste for such lengthy song and poetry. Is he in his room?"

"Yes, you'll find him there. He said his walk with you had tired him out--that he intended to go to bed early and skip the hall tonight." Bilbo quirked his mouth at Legolas and snorted. "Tired! Never seen him so full of life, and that's saying a lot."

'Do all hobbits have that infuriating tilt to their mouth when they smile?' Legolas thought. 'So alike--and yet unlike.'

Bilbo said softly, "Frodo asked me about you this afternoon. He made it most difficult to get anything useful from him for my book, you know."

"What did he want to know?"

"Everything--like he always does when his curiosity is whetted. Had I met or seen you when I was in your father's hall, what you had been like, that sort of thing. He is quite smitten, you know."

Legolas murmured, "It is mutual."

"I thought so. You seemed unable to concentrate on the music--very unusual for an elf."

"You watched me?"

"Oh, yes, certainly. How could I not after the grilling I got from Frodo?" Bilbo laughed quietly before fixing Legolas with a stern look. "What do you want from him? He has already been hurt badly by his journey to Rivendell. I know he is of age and able to choose for himself, but I don't want him harmed by an elf who seeks light pleasure for a night or two."

"I assure you, I mean him no harm," Legolas said stiffly.

Bilbo said nothing, just raised his eyebrows.

Legolas sighed and spoke carefully. "It is true I desire him. There is a light in him that calls me to him, but I could not bear to hurt him."

"Perhaps. Well, I have given him a hurt far worse than you ever could, so it is not my place to criticize. Still …"

"I will not hurt him, I promise you."

"Good. I believe you. Hadn't you better be off? Do you expect Frodo to stay awake all night waiting for you?" Bilbo nodded toward the door. "Off you go. The night is not getting any younger."

Legolas stammered, "Yes … it is not … good night. Thank you."

A wide smile spread across Bilbo's face. "Why, I believe you have it worse than he does. Not even the wisest of the fair folk is immune to the desires of the heart and flesh. You be careful yourself."

Legolas nodded briefly and walked away through the door, his steps coming quickly as he mounted the stairs to the upper reaches of Elrond's house. When he came close to Frodo's room, he slowed his pace. It was true that he intended no harm to the hobbit. He would sooner leave this night and return shamed to Mirkwood--break his vow--than cause Frodo any pain. 'I would be two-faced if I did not admit to myself that I am the one who fears being hurt,' he thought. Bilbo's face rose in front of him--old, surely not many years from death yet only a few decades older than Frodo. The years would pass in a lightning flash until …

The hall outside Frodo's room was dim and quiet. No sound came from within. Legolas stood for long minutes with his hand on the doorknob and his forehead pressed lightly to the smooth wood. Straightening his shoulders, he walked slowly down the shadowed hall.

'It is better this way. I will speak with him tomorrow and make him understand.'

* * *

Este still dreamed in her niche, but Legolas did not feel her healing touch when he trailed his hand lightly across her smooth brow. He was tired--wanted only to sleep dreamlessly through the dark night.

Closing the door behind him with a soft snick, Legolas stood in his room. The fire had burned low, leaving only a few hissing coals glowing on the darkened hearth. He looked into it briefly before turning to his bed.

Frodo lay on his stomach with the sheets twisted around him, candlelight glimmering on the creamy curve of his naked back. He slept with one arm flung out and a slim leg bent at the knee. Unruly curls tumbled over his cheek, screening his peaceful face.

Legolas walked slowly through the room, his sapphire velvet robe grazing the floor. When he had seen Frodo sprawled asleep, the blood had risen in his ears, cutting off all sound and dizzying him. Now he stood at the foot of the bed with one hand clutching its post and watched Frodo slumber. Lovely--Frodo was so lovely lying there as still as a living marble statue against the disheveled sheets. 'My bed,' thought Legolas, 'just as I invited him this afternoon.'

He moved closer, tripping against a trailing cover and putting his hand against the mattress to save himself from a fall. Frodo opened his eyes and smiled. He stretched languorously and rose up on his elbow, the sheet slipping down over his bottom.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting for hours. Did you forget you asked me to come?"

Legolas took a step back from the bed before replying. He spoke with a steady voice that denied the tension tightening around his chest. "After your friends took you way, I did not think you would come. I have been in the Hall of Fire--thought perhaps you would come there for the music."

Frodo chuckled and slipped back on to the bed, pulling the sheet up around his chest and laying back against the soft pillows. "I should have thought of that. But you're here now. Come." He held out his arms.

When Legolas made no move to join him, he frowned and asked, "Is something wrong?"

Legolas shook his head but said nothing. Silence lengthened between them.

Frodo gazed at him, confusion clouding the light of his eyes. He said slowly, "You've changed your mind. Why?"

"It would be wrong."

"Why?"

"We are too different. There could never be more between us than a brief pleasure that would end after a few nights … or a few years at most."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It would grieve me to have nothing but a memory of you."

"And so you would deny yourself?"

"Would it not cause you regret too?"

Frodo lay still, his chest rising and falling softly beneath the sheets. At last, he said quietly, "No, it wouldn't. I would hold the memory close to me in the night. After all, there might not be many nights left to me. I want as many happy ones as I can find. But, there, that is selfish of me. It would be different for you, too difficult. I'm sorry. I'll go now."

Legolas watched Frodo sit up on the bed and clutch the sheet to his chest, his knuckles bone white and his eyes cast down. Without quite realizing what he was doing, he sat on the bed and pulled Frodo into his arms. Frodo looked up at him with full eyes, one tear slipping down his cheek.

Legolas wiped it away with a gentle hand. "Forgive me. It was I who was the selfish one. I am neither so old nor so wise that I cannot be a fool on occasion. Stay with me tonight."

Frodo smiled but just barely, the corners of his full lips quivering. Sighing, he pressed himself to Legolas' chest and nuzzled his throat. They rested quietly, rocking back and forth until Frodo drew back and whispered, "It's not fair that you've so many clothes on and I've none. Undress for me. I'll help you."

Legolas sat back and shook a little as Frodo rose to his knees, the sheet slipping down and pooling at his feet. Ivory hands buried in the blue velvet, Frodo carefully undid the fastenings of Legolas' robe. Legolas pulled Frodo tight against his chest, breathing … just breathing in his warm scent. He could stay all night like that, just breathing in Frodo's sleep-filled skin.

"Your skin is so warm," Frodo said lightly. "I thought it would be cool." He lay back on the bed and looked up at Legolas, dark curls feathered against his flushed cheeks.

"You warm me, make me forget to …" Legolas quickly stripped off his leggings and stood naked before Frodo, watching his eyes widen.

"So big … I didn't think it …mine isn't …" Frodo gulped and looked back and forth between Legolas' arousal and his own.

"You are perfect." Legolas stroked lightly down Frodo's chest, fingers grazing his hardness. "Do not worry. I will try to not hurt you … tell me if I hurt you and I will stop."

He moved quickly to the bath alcove and retrieved a small phial, its smooth crystal cool against his heated fingers. Rejoining Frodo, he pressed himself close. Limbs entwined, they rolled over and over, bare skin meeting.

Legolas stroked Frodo's chest and pulled the hobbit's hand to his own chest. "Look, our skin matches."

Frodo put his mouth to Legolas' chest and pulled at a rosy nipple with his lips. With a cry, Legolas forgot everything but the feel of Frodo beneath him--hot mouth around him, soft fingers exploring and stroking, spinning him down, pulling him closer.

The scent of honeysuckle perfumed the air. Frodo moaned when Legolas' slick fingers filled him, careful fingers that moved slowly and searched for his most sensitive spot. 'Careful, do not rush him,' Legolas thought, each cry from the hobbit stored away as a treasure in his mind.

Kneeling between Frodo's thighs, Legolas held the phial of oil in his hands. "Hold out your palms." He poured the cool oil into Frodo's cupped hands and waited for his touch. His hardened member jerked when small hands encircled him and stroked him. 'Slowly, make it last.'

"Now?" he asked.

"Yes," Frodo whispered, eyes wide.

"Pull your knees up for me." Legolas pushed slowly with a long silken slide, eyes locked on Frodo's face. When Frodo raised his arms, fingers scrabbling at thin air, Legolas stopped and lay almost still, hips rocking gently against Frodo's soft bottom.

He said, "Yes?"

"Yes … oh … yes."

Legolas closed his eyes and gasped when he felt Frodo's hands steal around his back, fingers digging into his skin, knees pressing against his waist in time with their thrusts. Someone cried out--it was both of them, their blended voices mirroring their joined bodies. There was no room for memory or doubt, only the endless sweetness and heat, the feel of Frodo's hot, hard member in his stroking hand. Too soon--it would always be over too quickly--Frodo moaned, his body stiffening as his seed flowed into Legolas' palm. 'Slowly … make it go on … make the feel of him around you go on.' But it was too late. Legolas pulled Frodo's bottom closer as he pushed hard one last time and spilled into him, screaming his name.

They collapsed against the sheets in a tangle of arms and legs, breathing hard and murmuring soft words to each other. As Legolas surfaced from their warm pool of pleasure, he looked at Frodo, searching for some sign that he had hurt him. Frodo lay next to him with his eyes closed and mouth turned up in a contented smile. Legolas sighed with relief. All was well.

"Mmmm … I can't move," Frodo murmured, half opening his eyes to caress Legolas' face with his sated gaze. "But I'm cold."

Legolas laughed and pulled the sheets and covers up around them. "Is that better?"

"Yes." Frodo yawned and drew closer to Legolas, resting his head on his shoulder, one hand lightly stroking his hair until he fell into his sleep.

"Melethron nin," Legolas whispered against Frodo's tangled curls, smoothing them with fingers moving carefully enough not to wake him.

Legolas lay awake holding his lover lightly, singing softly into Frodo's slumbering ear. The last candle guttered out, enfolding their bedchamber in a warm darkness. Legolas' eyelids grew heavy, and his clear voice trailed off into silence as he joined his dreams to Frodo's.

* * *

_Golden slumbers fill your eyes  
Smiles awake you when you rise  
Sleep pretty darling do not cry  
And I will sing a lullabye  
(Golden Slumbers, Lennon/McCartney)_

* * *


End file.
